


What does this look like to you?

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tali's reaction to Garrus's new scars is...amusing, at the very least. Circa ME2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What does this look like to you?

Beneath Garrus’s fingers, the display flashed red.

"Spirits," he muttered, bringing up his omni-tool. EDI was being particularly quiet, but he could nearly feel her gloating. She’d wanted to help with the installation, but it was  _turian_ tech, dammit. He could handle it on his own.

Despite the hour, the door swished open behind him. He didn’t turn, precarious as the current interface was. “Can it wait, Shepard? I’m in the middle of—”

"Some calibrations," a voice that was definitely  _not_ Shepard’s finished for him. “She wasn’t exaggerating.”

He keyed in a code that would pause the installation, made sure it was stable, and turned to face his visitor. “I’ve been that bad, huh?”

Behind her faceplate, Tali smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. “Something about  _you’d think that damn cannon is his new best_ —Keelah.”

His mind, still half on the cannon, took a moment to catch up to the dismay in her voice. He glanced back to the display, worried that the hold on the system had corrupted, but then he remembered: he’d been wearing a helmet on Haestrom, and she hadn’t yet seen him without it. Probably didn’t help that the bandage was off for the night, giving the wound a chance to breathe.

He forced himself not to touch the fragile scars; instead, he turned the injured side of his face toward her, giving her an unobstructed view. “Impressive, right? Really adds to my charm.”

She waved the door closed behind her and stepped closer—near enough that he could see the reflection of his new glittering cybernetics in her faceplate. Her eyes narrowed, as though she was assessing the wound, but his visor showed him the precarious twist of her mouth.

He didn’t look at the scars much. The sight of his mangled colony markings caused something of a chill in his chest, and like any turian, he hated the cold.

"You always were too good-looking," she said finally, propping her hands on her hips.

He laughed; the sound of it surprised him. His face ached in reaction to the movement of his jaw and mandibles, but the pain was comparatively tolerable.

"Well, out with it," she pressed. "What did it?"

"A rocket," he said, a note of mirth in his subharmonics. It was one thing to have lived it, to have survived it—a terrible thing—but reflecting on it now, with Tali’s posture suggesting that she was about to scold him, was a little funny. A little.

His sense of humor was obviously not without flaws.

"A rocket," she repeated. "You  _bosh’tet_.”

"Now, now," he protested. "Shouldn’t you be angry with the person firing the rocket, here?"

She scoffed. “I am, but I’m sure Shepard already killed them.”

"It’s, uh, it’s what she’s good at."

"You could have  _ducked_.”

"I tried. Rockets are hard to dodge."

"Excuses, excuses." She smiled again. Damn, it was good to see her: a little older, a little battered, but still Tali, a recognizable note of humor in her words. "Do you want to tell me about it? I heard they put in a lounge. Even has dextro liquor."

It was an appealing offer, but he stalled a bit longer. “Should you really be drinking? Looks like you’re fighting off an infection.”

"How—damn you. What did you do to that poor visor, anyway?"

She reached up, but before she could touch the visor, he caught her hand in his. Any other time, he might have let her look it over—they’d once traded tech the way they swapped dextro rations, after all—but this particular piece of tech had become a lot more sentimental since Omega, and there were some chapters of that story he didn’t want to get into.

"Trade secrets," he said to cover the awkward pause. "Next thing I know you’ll be selling knock-offs as souvenirs.  _Worn by the best-looking turian in the galaxy himself!_ ”

A muscle in her wrist twitched beneath his fingers. His visor read a sudden spike in her pulse. She pulled her hand from his, eyes darting away from his. “I said _good-_ looking,” she corrected waspishly. “Don’t let it go to your head, Vakarian.” She waved the door open, already making for the corridor. “Finish your calibrations. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

"You’d better have some stories of your own," he called after her. "Talking at length with a mangled face isn’t exactly comfortable."

She glanced back over her shoulder, and his visor showed him her smirk. “I bet they’re better than yours,” she challenged. “At least I get close enough to my targets to get blood on my suit.”

He gestured to the collar of his hardsuit. “What does this look like to you? Rust?”

"It doesn’t count when it’s your  _own_ blood,” she dismissed.

The door shut behind her. He turned back to the display, but only long enough to put the installation to sleep for the night. Since coming aboard the Normandy, he’d stayed right here where the hum of the ship drowned out everything else. Shepard dropped in occasionally—and he’d obviously missed a few visits—but he’d been more or less isolated since Omega. Claws-deep in tech, working to avoid remembering.

A little remembering wouldn’t kill him, and besides—he’d missed Tali.


End file.
